


Once More Unto the Breach

by DevinBourdain



Series: Manifest Destinies [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Referenced prostitution, Revenge, Saloons, Sex as a Weapon, Vulcans as a first nations tribe, Western, inappropriate men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 15:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: The major moments in Uhura's life that lead her to joining outlaw Jim Kirk. Character origin story for Western Enterprises Series. Western AU.Nyota is captivated by the intricate black lines decorating the riders' faces and the pointed ears some of them have; they're equal parts fascinating and scary. She's heard stories of tribes with pointed ears but hasn't had the occasion to see any of them in person yet; their lands should be much further north not here.She's mentally taking note of all the things unique to these people when the riders pull their guns and fire. The sound reverberates across the land, rattling through Nyota's head and heart causing her lungs to seize and the world to narrow to the horrifying sight of her father grabbing his chest and falling to the ground. Nyota wants to scream but she can't seem to take a breath, can't convince her body to do anything but lie there, helplessly.The lesson is a simple but important one: people will kill to get ahead.





	Once More Unto the Breach

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.  
> Warnings: language and violence and references to sex  
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated

Nyota Uhura learns her first life lesson at a very young age on a rather unremarkable day in any ordinary town. Her father provides for the family by operating a courier service running both goods and people to and from various towns. Due to the nature of his work and how long it takes him away from the family, she and her mother accompany him on his trips; one happy family traveling the country side. It means never having roots or a place to call home but they have each other and it seems like enough. While people seem to have a general disdain for the family based on trivial things like skin color and station, they never stay in any place for it to have a real effect on their world outlook and those that matter don't share that view.

When the words do hurt, her father is always quick to dry her tears and assure her everything will be alright, that word's won't hurt if you keep your head high. The little boy cruel enough to lob the words at her quickly shrinks under her father's impressive stare, scurrying away with stammered apologies. He wraps his arms tightly around Nyota and promises one day, everyone will be equal but she'll always be the most special person in the world to him. Her father is the gentlest person she knows but also the fiercest when it comes to injustice. She makes a point to learn as many words as possible, to learn how they cut before they're used against her. The lesson that Uhura keeps close to her is the importance of family and how much stronger it makes her.

Nyota can't imagine getting a better education than touring the land and meeting various people and cultures. At seven she's already fluent in three languages thanks to her mother's efforts and inherited genius. Her brains may come from her mother but she's also learned her father's work ethic. The man toils endlessly to make sure his family has what they need and isn't shying away from the challenge of trying make his own business in this world, to be his own boss. They've made friends with many of the local indigenous groups, learning trails and gaining permission to travel their lands, giving them an edge in the shipping business.

The family is doing so well, her father is talking about being able to employ other people, to buy a home for them and let others work for them for a change. It will be a huge change but Nyota is excited about the possibilities. She's always wondered what it would be like to put on a dress to attend school like the other children she sees in the towns they pass through. It will be like learning a new culture and language, like the many she has already had the pleasure of embracing.

Her next lesson in her terribly young life comes from tragedy, one that sears its way into her blood and bones for all time. They make camp just outside a growing town called Federation City. It's mostly dirt and a scattering of shacks off the main street but it promises to be an important transport hub in the coming days, a major stop before the road splits off to the many towns springing up along the country side. It's the perfect place to lay roots for an up starting shipping company.

Her mother has gone down to the river to wash the breakfast dishes before giving Nyota her morning lessons allowing Nyota a few spare minutes to explore the open field spread out before her. The high grass rolls like waves on water with the gentle breeze whispering over the plains. Beautiful red flowers peek up through the grass catching the orange and gold of the sun like flames. Nyota starts by picking one, then another, then another, wandering deeper into the thick grass that easily towers over her.

She has a moment of panic when all she can see is the grass, turned around with no clue which direction to head. Before the feeling of being hopelessly lost takes hold, she hears her father's velvety voice and it's like he's standing right next to her, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her safe. She runs towards his voice, going as fast as her little legs can carry her. His voice gets louder the closer she gets back to camp but just as she's sure she's about to reach the end of the field another voice makes her stop short.

It's not her mother's voice, but another man. The voices are shouting now and she can't place the voice as anyone she knows. Nyota lies down and crawls to the edge to peek out, careful to remain unseen. Her father is arguing with a man dressed in black who towers over him by a good foot. The man is not alone, there are several others with him sitting on their horses watching the argument take place. There's a sense of evil radiating off of them like manifestations of the four horsemen waiting to pick apart man's soul.

Nyota is captivated by the intricate black lines decorating the riders' faces and the pointed ears some of them have; they're equal parts fascinating and scary. She's heard stories of tribes with pointed ears but hasn't had the occasion to see any of them in person yet; their lands should be much further north not here.

She's mentally taking note of all the things unique to these people when the riders pull their guns and fire. The sound reverberates across the land, rattling through Nyota's head and heart causing her lungs to seize and the world to narrow to the horrifying sight of her father grabbing his chest and falling to the ground. Nyota wants to scream but she can't seem to take a breath, can't convince her body to do anything but lie there, helplessly.

The lesson is a simple but important one: people will kill to get ahead.

* * *

It's hard to make an honest living in a land where people are still settling and law is more an idea than an established barrier. It's even harder to survive as a single female trying to raise a young girl. Nyota sees how hard her mother works as the sole provider for the family now and what terrible constraints her father's untimely death has put upon them. She also sees everything her mother thinks she's hiding from Nyota.

They actually stay in towns for months at a time, renting rooms or staying in boarding houses. Nyota spends most of her time at school or washing dishes for local eateries just to help lessen her mother's burden. It's a far cry from the excitement of meeting and exploring new cultures, the things that used to make her heart beat faster but she doesn't complain. If she's really lucky, she can make some money translating documents for law officials or the post office, but those jobs are practically nonexistent. Nyota knows her mother doesn't think she notices the number of gentlemen callers that visit their room or the fact that the never return after one visit when she's supposed to be away at school.

At first she's consumed by the sting of betrayal that her mother could so easily replace her father with the arms of any willing man who sees fit to take a turn in her bed. Her father worshiped the ground she walked upon and she thought her mother felt the same way. When rage burns out and she sees the rent being paid by the money so casually left by the gentlemen callers, she's consumed with pity. Her mother loved her father dearly and having to fall so low as to satisfy strangers for money over love now that their world has been destroyed is just too far for one person to fall.

Nyota remembers her first lesson about the importance of family and vows to find ways to make more money to relieve the terrible burden place upon her mother. Honesty is a luxury she doesn't feel they can afford anymore and so she strikes a deal with one of the street kids in town. She teaches him to read because language skills is what she has to offer, while he teaches her the benefits of sleight of hand and how not to get caught picking pockets.

While stealing her first change purse, she remembers her father and the pride he had for doing the right thing and doing right by people. It should fill her with shame with what she and her mother are willing to do to get by, but she thinks her father never got the chance to learn the lesson about doing whatever it takes to survive.

* * *

Nyota and her mother have an unspoken arrangement regarding what each does to earn their money; silence being the best policy. After a rather successful night at cards, Uhura returns to their room earlier than anticipated. She has several things going for her at the card tables, age, innocent appearance, and the fact that she's female. From the get go, men let her play out of pity, knowing full well they'll be quick to relieve her of her money and send her on her way with a valuable lesson on life against gambling with superior men. The satisfaction of cleaning them out and teaching them a lesson on appearances never gets old. She creeps up the stairs so as not to wake the other rooms and cracks open the door to their room.

Her mother is not only awake, despite her failing energy of late, but entertaining company. Nyota is just about to slip back out without disturbing them when she catches sight of the man's face in the mirror. She freezes, limbs locked in terror and disbelief as her heart begins to pound frantically. That face is burned into her memory; it haunts her dreams. It is the face of one of the men that killed her father.

Her mind is a jumbled mess. Surely her mother wouldn't forget the face of a murder? The feelings of betrayal and pity are back, swirling and mixing like paint leaving a black stain on the canvas of her soul. Her mother catches her eye over the man's shoulder for one brief second and is the picture of calm and collected before reaching under the bed sheets to retrieve a knife. She raises her hand quickly as if she was going to caress the man's neck and plunges the blade into his neck. He coughs, sputters and flails, unable to cry out for help before slumping over dead, his blood pouring out, soaking the sheets and staining them red.

Uhura can't help but stand there in disbelief as her mother grabs her robe off the nearby chair, throwing it around herself as she climbs out of bed and flies across the room without a sound to shut the door. She looks at Uhura for a moment, a look of determination so fierce it's almost frightening but never utters a word. Nyota isn't sure there are words in any language for this.

She watches with stunned fascination as her mother drags the body towards the window and unceremoniously dumps it out as one would a chamber pot into the dark space between the houses along the street with practiced ease. "They'll think it was a brawl in the middle of the night," she says with certainty.

Nyota feels like she's seeing her mother for the first time. It's clearly not the first time she's done this. The six gunmen that shot her father all come to mind and she wonders just how many are left. She admires the strength her mother needed to go through with a plan like this and feels her sense of pride she lost when she believed her mother to be achingly desperate, return. Nyota realizes that sometimes survival means wading through lakes of blood for vengeance.

* * *

Nyota stands silently alone in the grave yard as the priest finishes his prayer. She'll probably never set foot in this town again but is loath to leave it now. Her father is buried in some town that's nothing more than a distant memory for her and now her mother is sharing that fate in a different graveyard in another faceless town.

Of all the things she thought could bring her mother down, she didn't think it would be illness. The local doctor's steep price for medication for Rigelian Fever was so high that it took a week for Nyota to secure the funds. By the time she did, the doctor's supply of Ryetalyn had run out and so had her mother's time. She's barely fifteen and completely alone in the world.

The grief is so strong and heavy it'll crush her if she lets it. There isn't time for grief, too many things to do and only Nyota is left to do them. There's four gunmen left and they need to pay; that was her mother's last request. Four men Nyota, no she's just Uhura now because they will know the name of the family they destroyed, will hunt down and kill. She promised. At fifteen years old, it's all she has left.

* * *

Saloons all looked the same after awhile. The names and faces within change but the people stay the same. It provides an odd sort of comfort, familiarity in her constant travels, like a place to call home. Her job with the survey company affords her enough, the ability to travel on someone else's dollar, with a small paycheque to blow at the local establishments in the towns they pass through. The job is mostly a glorified cover but she does actually enjoy the work. She thinks her parents would be proud that she is putting her language skills to use by being the negotiator between companies and the indigenous people who's lands they're venturing into. She even works hard to ensure they have a fair agreement.

Nyota steps into the saloon, hit immediately with the bitter smell of alcohol and fog from the smoke. The crew she's traveling with this time already have a table in the back, waving her over to join them. She smiles politely and declines them, instead elbowing her way to the bar and sets herself down on a stool instead. She took this job specifically to end up in this town and doesn't need the crew getting in the way. The eyes of every sleaze ball in the place settle on her, running over her like their perverted hands would be doing if they were closer. She supposes a more respectable woman would be repulsed by the vile nature of men but her work and more importantly her life don't allow her the luxury of being respectable. She wouldn't be able to accomplish her goals if she binds herself in respectable society ribbon. She grabs the bartender's wrist to get his attention. "A shot of whisky," she orders. Some liquid courage will fortify her nerves.

"Make that two." A blond head appears as one of the patrons leans forward on the other side of the man sitting between her and the mystery man. "Her shot's on me," he says with a suggestive smile.

Nyota rolls her eyes. The kid's not bad looking but clearly no better off than she is; probably blowing all his money in one glorious night of booze and woman that he'll sorely regret come morning. He'd be an easy mark for some pocket change, a quick smile followed by a gentle hand caressing his hip and two shots later he'd be passing out with a smile on his face and an empty pocket. She doesn't have time to deal with a hopeless drunk right now. "Her shot's on her," she corrects. "Thanks, but no thanks." She's about to use sex to get what she wants. Still, it's degrading that men think it's the only reason she was put on this earth, even if she has done far worse than the blue eyed wonder currently using the bar for support.

"Don't you at least want to know my name before you completely reject me?" asks the blond with a small pout. He hides the rejection well enough but even all that swagger can't hide his mild exasperation at her dismissal. He wobbles slightly on his stool as his glassy eyes catch the light from behind the bar.

"I'm fine without it," insists Nyota, hoping he'll drop the matter and get distracted by another skirt. The room is full of girls trying to secure payment tonight, surely they're more appealing if not easier to attract.

"You _are_ fine without it," he slightly slurs, shameless in his flirting. "It's Jim, Jim Kirk."

Nyota shakes her head. He deserves points for being persistent. It would be so easy to take the kid for a ride, get him all twisted up and hopeful before relieving him of his wallet and the impressive looking gun strapped to his hip, but she can't afford to be distracted when her real mark walks in no matter how much he offers himself up on silver platter.

"If you don't tell me your name, I'm going to have to make one up," persists Kirk in a sing-song voice.

She squeezes her hand into a fist, nails biting into the flesh of her hand. He just really doesn't know when to give up and take a hint. She simultaneously wants to punch him in his smug mouth while being captivated by his weird combination of brave stupidity. Reluctantly she says, "It's Uhura," knowing full well she'll come to regret it.

Kirk's face lights up. "Uhura, no way, that's the name I was going to make up for you." He leans a little more on the bar and shoots her a serious look. "Uhura what?"

"Just Uhura." Her patience is growing short; subtle rejection clearly not penetrating Kirk's thick head. She kind of doubts he would back off even if he knew how close to death he was.

"They don't have last names where you're from?" he asks, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Uhura is my last name."

"Well, they don't have first names where you're from?"

The question is oddly more complicated than it should be. She started this quest for vengeance telling the world her name was Uhura, the one thing her father gave her that no one can take away or tamper with. When she kills the men responsible, she wants there to be no doubt in their mind who she is, who her father was. They won't forget the name of their killer or the man they gunned down. Somewhere along the way Nyota became the last piece of that little girl her father use to hold in his arms, of the daughter her mother would tuck into bed and sing lullabies too. To share that name with anyone feels like a violation of the precious few memories she has left, like splaying herself open to the world. If anyone's going to get it, it's not going to be a cocky drunk in a one horse town that's looking for nothing more than twenty minutes in her pants.

"What brings a beautiful girl like you to a shit hole like this?" asks Kirk plopping himself down on the bar stool right next to her, having negotiated a switch with its pervious occupant.

"I'm the linguistic interpreter and negotiator for the Reeds Rail and Mining expansion survey expedition, but you have no idea what that is," challenges Nyota, hoping the conversation to finally die it's expected quick and premature death.

"You study languages and broker deals with the native tribes to secure land and resources for the Reeds Company," replies Kirk without blinking an eye. "It means you have a talented tongue."

"I'm impressed," she utters, somewhat caught off guard. The usual simpletons that find their way into her personal space generally lack the mental capacity for any kind of intelligent thought beyond food, sex and booze, let alone not taking offense to a woman with a brain and knowing what it is she does for a living. Dumb and cocky has just become a little bit interesting. "For a moment I thought you were a dumb hick who only has sex with farm animals."

"Well..." starts Jim leaning in closer, "not only."

"This asshole isn't bothering you is he?" asks Michaels, standing behind them, having ventured away from the survey team's table, because speaking of dumb hicks, she happens to know a few.

Uhura laughs, and refocuses on why she's even here to begin with. "Beyond belief, but it's nothing I can't handle," she assures Michaels. The last thing she needs is a pissing contest between two men that think they have claim over her.

"You could handle me, if that's an invitation?" promises Kirk, all smooth and intrigue, turning his attention back to Uhura.

"Hey," shouts Michaels, his big meaty hand clamping down on Kirk's shoulder and turning him away from Uhura. "You better mind your manners." His co-workers from the table make a not so subtle show of sauntering over, straightening their gun belts.

"Oh relax," dismisses Kirk with a wave of his hand, "it was a joke."

"Hey farmboy," insists Michaels, his voice rising and pulling the attention of the other patrons. "Maybe you can't count, but there's four of us and one of you." The threat is clear; Uhura is one of them and as such is beyond reach of any locals in a town so far from civilization it barely has a name.

Kirk sways a little but brings his hand up to pat Michaels on the cheek. "Well get some more guys and maybe it'll be a fair fight." He turns to regain the support of the bar but Michaels pulls him back and onto his fist.

Uhura would be impressed with the fact that drunk and stupid is holding his own against four less inebriated men, but the fight brings the Sheriff and a handful of deputies who shut down the saloon and drag the offenders off to jail. It means she's not going to get to her mark before the survey company pulls out of town.

The next morning she resigns. She wanted the opportunity to get firsthand experience with the Romulans, but vengeance waits for no woman and she's not going to lose her target a second time. She takes a deep breath and fortifies herself to spending some more time in this shithole of a town.

* * *

Uhura makes her way down the street, heading for the saloon and hopefully her destiny. It's already late, bordering on the end of the night before the men start their drunken stumble to their beds. Hopefully that means her mark will be well and truly plied with liquor, making it easier to work her charms without as much foreplay.

She turns down a side street and stops abruptly as a pair of boots and bundle of clothes fall from the sky and land at her feet. She glances up to see a man scrambling out the second story window of a home clad only in his pants; the items laying in the dirt clearly his. He shimmies down the side of the house under a vocal storm of expletives and threats from the other man leaning out the window, pushing a crying woman back. It's fairly obvious that the man who just dropped in front of Nyota was caught sleeping with the other man's wife and she can't begin to understand how people think they're going to get away with such crap when the man stands up and she gets a good look.

"You!" she exclaims, because really, it all makes sense now.

"Hi there," says Kirk, taking an appreciative look while grabbing his boots and quickly putting them on. He's in the middle of being hunted down by an irate husband and he's taking precious seconds to try and win her over with his charm.

"He's going to kill you," she says with a small amount of satisfaction, pointing up to the window where the man is trying to replicate Kirk's decent though he clearly lacks the agility.

Jim shrugs nonchalantly. "Didn't know she was married." He hastily puts his shirt on, glancing over his shoulder to gage how much time he has before the other man catches up to him. "You gonnna be at the saloon later?"

Uhura shoves him, not as hard as she's like but enough to get him to stumble a couple of paces. "You're dead," she warns as he finally starts to jog down the street. She'd like to watch Kirk get his smug face smashed in, maybe even offer to hold him for the guy now giving chase down the street, but she has more important things to take care of tonight.

* * *

Uhura downs her shot and keeps her face carefully schooled. She'd love nothing more than to run a knife through the hand slowly creeping up her thigh but she's waited five days for this opportunity another hour and a couple unwanted feels isn't going to deprive her now. She puts on her most pleasant come-hither smile and rewards Mr Sparage with the fakest giddy laugh she can muster. Personally she abhors women who act like this but Mr Sparage has a penchant for dumb and eager and she's willing to facilitate if it gets her alone in a room with him.

It's vengeance that gives her strength now, a need to avenger her father and finish what her mother started. Her personal dislike of the situation and man are inconsequential. She'll treat herself to a bath and a bottle after he's dead to remove any lingering trace of him from her person.

"I'll be right back little missy," slurs Sparage as he gets up and stumbles to the table at the back of the saloon.

A shudder of revulsion runs through her and she takes another shot to calm her nerves. It's not her first kill, but the last time there wasn't this much time to think about it. The thought of his old dirty hands roaming over her makes her sick and she feels for all the other young girls that he's forced himself on who didn't have the skills to fight back. She'd love nothing more than to make an example of him in front of everyone, unfortunately she has no desire to find herself at the end of a rope for murder because no one would believe it's self defense in this case. The man had a hand in murdering her father and she has to seek vengeance by whoring herself out to get the deed done in the dark away from witnesses and a chance to leave town unseen. She thinks good shouldn't have to slither in the dark to catch a glimpse of light.

"He doesn't strike me as your type," says Jim Kirk like they're old friends, plopping down on the stool beside her and ordering a drink from the bartender.

Uhura lets out a long, measured breath. Of all the idiots in the world, she has to find herself next to him, again. More disappointingly, he doesn't look any worse for wear. "Shouldn't you be in jail?" she snaps, going for an air of superiority, because that's where he ended up the first night they met. Who was dumb enough to unleash this menace on the world?

"Got out this morning," he replies, raising his glass in toast. "Though I'm surprised you're still here, since they let your buddies out earlier so they could continue on with the survey crew. Was it true love," he mocks, tilting his head towards the table at the back, "between you and Mr Scumbag there?"

"Shut up." Nyota can feel her anger rising. Kirk's not wrong that there's zero attraction there but she hates that some boy, who's too full of himself, is the one to notice.

"There are easier marks, you know. Less dangerous." Kirk seems genuinely concerned if not a little curious as if he has some experience in biting off more than he can chew.

"What makes you think it isn't true love?" she challenges fighting back the urge to vomit. "And I can take care of myself." She's not a damsel in distress and she most certainly doesn't need the likes of Jim Kirk to save her.

Kirk finishes his glass and demands a refill. He quirks his eyebrow and leans casually against the bar to face Uhura. "I believe you can take care of yourself. The true love part, not so much. Love doesn't look like it wants to stab someone in the throat with a fork... mostly."

"Right," laughs Nyota, "because I'm sure your life has been filled with love and not one night follies with prostitutes."

Kirk shrugs like he's heard it all before and can't muster the energy to refute the charges anymore. "You study languages, I study people."

"You don't know me," warns Uhura. If anyone's going to get to the deeper level of her motivations and raison d'etre it isn't going to be this drunken hick.

"I know you're not like most women. You were carrying a gun last time that looks like it was well taken care of, like you know how to use it. You're smart, working a job with rough men out on the frontier where rules and laws are sketchy at best but you don't seem afraid, which means you know how to handle yourself. You're employed, or you were, so you're not dependant on any man to survive. So naturally one could assume you wouldn't need to slum by selling yourself," continues Jim as though he's never been more sure of anything.

Uhura counters, "So how does that exclude an interest in Mr Sparage?" She's certainly not going to let him know he came anywhere near hitting the nail on the head.

"He only likes girls he can buy or intimidate so the only reason you'd be willing to put up with him is if you're looking to relieve him of a chunk of his fortune. And as I said there are less dangerous and easier marks stumbling around this saloon."

"You couldn't be more wrong. And you should mind your own business." There's hostility coming off of her amplified by the fact that Kirk couldn't be more right unless he knew exactly what she was after. Kirk radiates trouble and for some unfathomable reason he's been pulled into her orbit, threatening to derail her carefully crafted plans for a second time. If the stakes weren't so high, if she didn't have this mission riding on her shoulders she might find him endearing or at the very least someone she could form a tentative partnership with to pull off impressive cons across the west.

She's spared any more insight of Kirk's as Sparage returns to the bar, sliding Uhura off her stool so he can sit down before pulling her down on his lap. She decides she's going to take great pleasure in watching the light fade from his eyes the second she can get him alone tonight and that isn't going to come fast enough.

She keeps her eyes forward and her fake smile firmly in place, pointedly ignoring Kirk's unwavering interest. She doesn't need an audience, especially with Sparage's wandering hands wearing away the last of her patience. Delicately she removes his callused hand from worming its way down her bodice and firmly puts it back in his lap. It's hard to pull off helpless with a man finding a gun carefully concealed in the confines of her corset, of which Sparage's is getting precariously close to discovering. Not sure if he's especially stupid or alcohol stubborn, he brings his hand immediately back. "Not here, darling," she coos, removing his hand yet again.

"If a man wants to sample the goods, he should be allowed a little taste," drawls Sparage, leaning in and running his booze laden tongue from the top of her bosom to her ear.

"I think the lady's not interested," offers Jim, as Uhura pushes his hand away.

"Go away Kirk," hisses Nyota over Sparage's shoulder. Even if she did need help, she wouldn't accept his and all Kirk is going to accomplish is ruining her chance to at Sparage again tonight.

Sparage scowls like he just stepped in horseshit. "I think it's none of your business," he growls, wrapping his hand painfully tight around Uhura's arm like she's some prize and begins to drag her towards the staircase leading to the rooms upstairs.

"Let go!" warns Uhura. She's capable of walking and doesn't want the black and blue handprint as a reminder of her time with him.

Sparage stops short, his skin flushing red with anger. "You're not leading me on all night to get cold feet now," he warns, misinterpreting her protest with refusal for his plans.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor echoes through the silence that now fills the saloon. "She said let go."

Uhura doesn't even need to turn around to know what idiot is rushing to her supposed defense. Her head drops in defeat as she realizes she's not going to get her chance to kill this son of a bitch tonight the way she planned.

Sparage lets go of Uhura's arm and lets his fist fly towards Kirk. Surprisingly, the kid is more agile and adept than the previous night would have let Nyota to believe. The two men trade blows, fists and blood raining down as other patrons flee their path.

Uhura pulls her gun. This isn't her plan but the weight of killing someone still hasn't settled on her very well and having to reschedule is making her nervous. It's a now or never moment, if wants to continue on this path, she must act now or fear will get the better of her and she'll have to live with her parent's ghosts forever. "Stop," she shouts, her voice surprisingly shaky, not unlike the gun in her hand.

Self defense has driven deadly action before but this is only the second time she's doing it for something other than survival. It's a line she never wanted to cross as a child, and knows deep down her father would never want her to either, but her lesson about family demands that she avenges those she loves by ending those who took them away.

Both Kirk and Sparage freeze, their eyes settling on the gun now wavering in their direction. Sparage's hand that was tangled up in Kirk's shirt for leverage in his next punch drops to his side as a wicked predatory smile warps his face. He takes a step towards Uhura, counting on his sheer size and malice to leave the little mouse before him paralyzed in indecision. "Now, now," he coos, "little girls shouldn't play with daddy's guns."

Sparage's hand moves quickly, finding his sidearm, raising it and all Uhura can do is gasp, unable to convince her finger to curl around the trigger in time. She didn't have to look her previous mark in the eye until after she delivered the fatal blow. The bang of the gun eclipses the noise in the room and for a painful minute time freezes to the tremendous thump of her heart. Panic grips the remaining patrons as the saloon girls scream and the men pull their own weapons preparing for a larger fight to break out.

Sparage collapses to the floor in a mountainous heap, blood pooling out from him staining the floor red. Slowly the image of Kirk, gun raised with wisps of smoke whispering off the barrel behind where Sparage was standing comes into focus. Uhura hadn't pulled the trigger, speed not being on her side but apparently Kirk _was_ the quickest draw today. Her brain can't seem to comprehend this turn of events as adrenaline floods her body with nowhere to go.

"What did you do?" she whispers, unable to take her eyes off the lifeless corpse. There's no answer and her eyes snap towards Kirk. She screams, "What did you do!"

This was supposed to be hers. Sparage was supposed to die with her name on his lips and images of the good man he helped gun down in cold blood dancing in his eyes as he departed this world and now...

"Saving your life," shouts Kirk over the commotion to be heard as he grabs her hand and pulls her through the crowd and outside.

Nyota wants to cry; not out of sadness but failure and disappointment. She's so lost in her lack of satisfaction at Sparage's death, Kirk manages to not only get her on a horse but lead them out of town and away from the impending wrath of the law and possible final act of the hangman's noose.

They don't stop until dawn paints the sky and they reach the crossroads on the trail. She should be thankful for Kirk's quick hands and even quicker thinking, she can't kill the other men on her list if she's dead, but all she can feel is hollow anger. "You had no right!" she screams, pushing him off his horse. That was her vengeance to take and it means nothing to her family if she isn't the one to kill these people.

Taken by surprise, he topples pretty easily, landing hard on the dry cracked earth. Jim's standing by the time Uhura get off her horse and is storming towards him, pure hatred on her face. It's misplaced for the most part but Kirk is a convenient target.

"He was going to shoot you," protests Jim, looking at her like she might be crazy. "And we certainly couldn't wait around to see if his buddies or the Sheriff were going to be okay with me killing him or you pulling a gun."

"I had it under control!" She can almost believe it herself. As a child she watched her mother kill with the ease of necessity and though she knows in her heart that the death of these men is justified, her hands still shake with the execution of the deed.

"Did you? Cause it looked to me like you couldn't pull the trigger," counters Jim, the volume of his voice matching hers.

Uhura pulls her gun and points it at Kirk's head. The tremor is gone and she glares at him viciously. "I have no problem pulling the trigger," she warns. She's spent over a year practicing her aim and skill before undertaking her mother's cause. She even has one kill under her belt; she's willing and capable of completing this mission. Last night was just... just a case of unfounded nerves that she won't let happen ever again.

"Then pull it," says Jim, low and measured and without the slightest trace of concern of what it will mean for himself if she takes him up on the offer. She has a gun in his face and doesn't seem to be afraid at all.

Uhura contemplates it for a moment. Her rage and anger needs to go somewhere and Kirk has denied her an outlet. In this is a moment she realizes she can either cross a line or she won't, become like them or stay the course of vengeance. Would it be as simple to kill Kirk as she's pretending it will be? Will those blue eyes haunt her or will killing him remove any morality she has left? She bites her lip and uncocks her gun. "I'm not here to kill to you and I owe you one for getting me out of town. But understand this Kirk, if I ever see you again, I'm going to eviscerate you."

"If you owe me one, how can I collect if I can't see you again?"

She pulls a knife from her boot and brandishes it front of his face. "First, I'll start with the parts you like; your balls than your dick. After I make you eat them we'll move on to other body parts. Understands?"

Kirk raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back. "My balls are good where they are. We won't have a problem."

She gets back on her pilfered horse, the promise searing itself in her bones and rides as far away from Kirk as she can. As she rides into the next town, she realizes it wasn't a complete loss. Jim Kirk has taught her another valuable life lesson: a quick hand is life saving. She'll regroup and practice more; enter a few gun draw competitions to refine her skills until she has the fastest hands. If she doesn't have to think about what she's doing, it shouldn't be a problem when she resumes hunting down the remaining men on her list. Looking them in the eye before pulling the trigger won't be a problem next time.

* * *

The amber liquid burns its way down her throat, an old familiar feeling that never gets old. Nyota is drinking top shelf whisky to mark her historic occasion. It took a few years but she's buried everyone she needed to. With nothing pressing on the horizon, spending the week letting alcohol wash away the bad memories seems like a fitting climax. For the first time her next move is solely up to her, to be whatever she wants. Freedom feels... empty, maybe a little lonely. She was successful but somehow feels as though she lost her purpose. This week is a celebration that's two parts brooding.

The clink of several coins hitting the table startles her out of her reverie. Most people don't dare to encroach on her space. There's usually one at the start of the night but after she hands him his balls, mostly metaphorically, sometimes literally, everyone else is wise enough to keep a wide berth. The man that sits across from her clearly didn't get the message; both this time and last time she saw him.

Her hand falls on top of the pile of coins as she slides them back across the table. "I don't work for the army. Massacring tribes and tricking them into giving up their land isn't really my thing." Her face is impassive but her voice is direct and clear. The offer had come a few years ago, her reputation with language and culture becoming a thing of legend; a valuable resource not just to her but to others as well. If she was in it for the money, she could be rich several times over, but she has... no had, a mission that didn't leave a lot of time to explore and avoid the pitfalls of such job opportunities.

"I'm not so sure I work for the army anymore either," replies the officer, sliding the coins back towards Nyota. It's a handsome gesture, worth at least a listen.

"I thought you were their poster child, Captain Pike. What happened?" Nyota can't say she doesn't like Pike as a person; he seems like a good man who lacks the bigger picture or at least the finer points of those who fall to the wayside as progress sweeps the land.

Pike shrugs. "We're having a disagreement. But that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" asks Uhura. Curiosity is getting the better of her but mostly she wants to hear the tale of how a career army man like Pike suddenly isn't in love anymore.

"I know you've had experience with Jim Kirk before," starts Pike, ignoring the eye roll at the kid's name.

It's been a couple of years but the very mention of his name irks her like an itch she can't scratch. "This isn't a good way to start a conversation, especially if you want something from me."

"He's in trouble," he continues.

"There's a surprise." Really Pike might as well tell her the sky is blue.

"He tried to help some people and others aren't seeing it like that. I think he might come to you for help."

Her opinion of Kirk isn't the highest, and the kid definitely has a few things coming his way but trying to save a whole tribe of people shouldn't be one of those things. Despite the swagger, cockiness and brashness, Kirk is oddly capable of helping those who need it. He's bold but she doesn't think Kirk is especially stupid and seeking her out is either blindingly stupid or an act of utter desperation after how she left thing. "I doubt Kirk's dumb enough to come to me for help. And what could I possibly help him with?"

"I think he's desperate enough to take help from anyone right now. And you can get him through the valley the fastest with your connections to the tribes there. That kind of help can get him out of the clutches of his pursuers." Pike points to the stack of coins. "That's payment for you to consider providing your services should he show up here."

"Consideration? That's it? What if I decide no?"

"Then he'll have to find another way through and you'll have to live with letting a good man suffer when you could have helped. Hear him out, that's all I ask." Pike excuses himself from the table and leaves.

The booze isn't as comforting anymore. She's been searching for her next path but this seems like stepping into the middle of a lake and not knowing how to swim.

* * *

Seeing Kirk again in person ignites a fury in Nyota despite the supposed circumstances. "What the hell are you doing here?" she shouts as she slams her knife into the table Kirk and a Vulcan are sitting at with tremendous force. It's some horrible combination of memories about evil men and a time when her strength wavered.

The Vulcan raises his eyebrow at the display that has gotten the momentary attention of the other patrons in the seedy and smoky saloon, but otherwise doesn't move a muscle.

Jim flinches at the force in which the knife is embedded in the table mere inches from his hand. "It's nice to see you too, Uhura. Still delightful as ever I see," says Jim with as much bravado as he can muster while thinking of all the things she promised to do to him with that knife the last time they crossed paths.

Uhura crosses her arms and glares at Kirk with an expression that screams 'make it good, or so help you.' She doesn't trust Pike and his vague story and payoff and she certainly doesn't trust Kirk. If it's a set up, it's certainly elaborate but she doesn't think an actual Vulcan would go along with a dog and pony show to obtain her skills.

Jim straps on his most dazzling smile and cranks up the charm a couple of watts. "This is Spock." He points his thumb towards the Vulcan beside him, ever mindful of just how close the blade is to his hand.

Uhura glares for a second more before turning her attention entirely to Spock. There's something about him that is captivating and it's pulling her in. Her shoulders relax and she extends a hand giving the Vulcan salute warmly. "I'm Uhura," she says with warmth before turning her icy glare back on Kirk. Her hostility promises Jim has about a minute to live unless he fills that time with meaningful words.

Jim kicks out the empty chair at their table, relieved when Uhura takes a seat and the rest of the onlookers go back to their own conversations and card games. "I'm in trouble," starts Jim.

"What a surprise," huffs Uhura. "Who is she this time?"

"It's not like that," he promises. "We need to get through the Tellarite lands. You're the only one I know that can negotiate our passage."

"Go around," counters Uhura. The Tellarite are notoriously elusive, except when people trespass on their land, which combined with their willingness for bloodshed and the natural inhospitably of the land makes it better to avoid the trail. The trail through their territory however takes two weeks off a person's journey and allows anyone brave enough to traverse it to be left alone in their travels.

"We can't. Besides every bounty hunter in the territory is looking for us and the whole army is gunning for us as well."

Uhura leans back in her chair, a wicked grin melting her features. "Only James Kirk would do something so monumentally stupid, the whole army would be after him."

"Despite what Lieutenant Kirk's reputation would suggest, our current predicament is the result of his attempt to foil the army's plans to slaughter the Vulcan people in order to obtain our land under the guise of peaceful negotiation," interjects Spock.

A ripple of sadness washed over Uhura, leaving sympathy painted across her delicate features. She can almost hear the heart break behind Spock's words. "The army wiped out the Vulcans?" she breaths so quiet it's almost lost in the noise of the saloon. There are skirmishes between the various tribes and the army, with heavy casualties on both sides but usually both sides still exist after the battles.

"They tried. Mostly succeeded," mumbles Jim, sinking into his seat and throwing back the last dredges in his glass. The self-incrimination is evident in every line of his body.

Uhura locks eyes with Spock, her hand falling gently on his for a moment as she says, "I'm so sorry." She knows what it's like to lose family, to be an outsider and be left with nothing when family is gone. More importantly she knows what it's like to be the victim of another's ambition.

Spock pulls his hand back slowly, uncomfortable with not only the touch but the magnitude of attention from what amounts to a complete stranger. "Jim did manage to ensure survivors that are currently relocating in the hopes of rebuilding our tribe."

She wants to think poorly of Kirk, knows his type all too well, but the pieces of his puzzle are piling up to build someone she might emphasize with.

"We need to lose some bounty hunters and gain some distance and you're the only one I know that can help us get through Tellarite territory. Please, Uhura, we need your help," says Jim, hoping to gain some compassion from Uhura without calling in the favor she owes him. He'd rather save that for when she's really going to dismember him.

The Vulcan card does the trick, tugging at whatever heartstrings Uhura keeps hidden because not only does she agree to get them through the territory but she rides with them. Her innate talent for languages and culture means they can stick to the routes less travelled, out of sight from people looking to cash in on the bounty on their heads and who hate the army as much as they do.

Spock is not only a repository of all the information on Vulcans she could ever hope for but the provider of the most intellectually stimulating conversations she's ever had. She watches the lengths Kirk goes to in order to keep them safe and listen to the risks he's taken to do right by others. When Pike finally meets up with them, Uhura is finally privy to some of the deeper darker workings of Jim Kirk and what becomes the ultimate goal of the rag tag team of misfits that seems to have them all fall together. Much to her relief, Pike assumes command of the group, and she finds she has no reason to say no, and a million surprising reasons to say yes when he asks her to stay and help them track down a villain named Nero. It seems the culmination of all her life lessons have led her to this point: survival, fast hands, people doing wrong to innocents just to get ahead and more crucially, the importance of family and the strength they can give each other. Without a mission of her own, she accepts Kirk's mission and throws herself once more into the struggle of vengeance for innocents wronged, this time with family by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story, commented and/ or left kudos, you're the best.  
> Thanks to CaptainNinapants for beta reading this story.  
> There is an origin story for each member of the gang: Kirk, Spock, Scotty, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Pike and then McCoy


End file.
